


Designing for the Present

by Minxie



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, Post513
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:10:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all happy endings come with a country manor. Or a blond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Designing for the Present

**Author's Note:**

> **Prereaders:** @shinyredrain, @starting2fade, and Jessica  
>  **Disclaimer:** All things recognizable belong to others. The new boys in town are mine. ;-)  
>  **AN:** Title is a play on Jim Rohn's quote: _Happiness is not something you postpone for the future; it is something you design for the present._

"You really don't have to walk me in, you know?"

Killing the engine, I cut a fast glance to the side and arch a brow. "We've been doing this for ten years, when have I ever dropped you off at the curb?"

"Never." The single word is huffed out.

I bite back a chuckle. He's such a princess.

"You do know that I'm not a little kid, right?"

"What I know, is that no matter what you say, I'm walking you to the gate." Popping the lock on my seatbelt, I add, "Now, out of the car, sonny boy."

Smirking, Gus says, "You're just afraid of Imah." 

He's not too far off of the mark. I'm not willing to risk the few weeks I have with him during the summer and the week at Christmas on Mel's temperament. Leaving him alone at the airport is sure to bring a fuckton of recrimination down on my head. Besides, the weather is for shit. Snow and wind and ice. Knowing my luck, the one time I do leave him at the airport, his flight will get cancelled. "Still not changing my mind about it." 

Check-in is fast – we've done it enough to have a routine down – and before I know it we're standing at the gate, the usual tense silence weighing heavy between us. I'm still shit at saying goodbye.

"You know, Dad –" Gus is giving me a look I'm very familiar with. He thinks he's about to rock my world. "– sometimes change is an okay thing."

"Gus, there is no way I'm going to start leaving you…"

"Not everything is about me," he interrupts. "Just, you know, it's okay for you to let go of some shi… stuff and let yourself be, I don't know, happy." 

It's an effort, but I manage to swallow back the instinct to snap at him. Instead, after a moment's pause, I mutter, "I'm happy."

The kid arches an eyebrow, disbelief stamped all over his face. It's like looking into a mirror. The kid is Brian Kinney, version 2.0.

"No, you're not happy, Dad," he says, voice strong with conviction. "But you could be. If you'd stop fighting change so much and just let it happen."

Of course, then he opens his mouth and starts talking about feelings and shit, proving he really is Lindsay's son.

We're both saved from my possibly scathing reply with the announcement of his flight.

Gus moves in close and gives me hug. "I love you."

"You too, sonny boy," I murmur, watching him disappear down the passageway and into the depths of the plane. "You too."

*

"My, my, my," Emmett says. "There's a new brand of candy on the market, boys."

"Emmett," Michael hisses. "What about Mark?"

"What about him?" Emmett truly sounds confused. "It's not like I'm trying to buy the property, I'm just admiring the view."

Pushing the weights away from my chest, I chuckle as I breathe out. "Never change, Honeycutt."

"Besides, it's not me he's cruising." Emmett drops his voice to a lower register. "Look pretty, Mr. Kinney. He's coming in on your ten o'clock."

Before I can force some snappy comeback out, the trick invades my personal space. I'll give Auntie Em credit. The view is definitely worth appreciating. Especially since I'm flat on back and staring up the length of his body. His very well-put-together body. When my gaze finally settles on his face, his lips quirk into a grin. "You should always have a spotter."

"I do," I retort. "He was heralding your arrival just like he was trained to do." 

"Thought that was a royal messenger," he murmurs. Then he motions and says, "Come on, you've got another set of five in you."

"Royal messenger, spotter… whatever." I drag my tongue over my bottom lip and let a small curl of a smile slip out. It's been a while since the chase included a round of pre-fuck banter. I'm actually enjoying myself. "What's in it for me to add another five reps?"

"I'm sure I can think of a proper reward." The guy's easy grin slides into a smirk. "Maybe even one fit for a king."

Jesus. My cock flashes from _maybe_ to _hell, yes_ in a matter of seconds. Confident and challenging, seemingly intelligent and definitely easy on the eyes. It presents as a very interesting package. 

His voice rumbles low as I work through the last five of the set. Praises and encouragement – _That's it. Keep the pace steady. Hold it for five… four… three… One more, you've got this._ – all wrapped in the honey-toned promise of something more. 

By the time the weight bar is back in the rack, my brain is firmly on my dick.

I can't remember a time when working out was actually erotic foreplay. 

*

Deb's voice is the first thing I hear when I walk into the diner. For someone who doesn't actually work here anymore, she never leaves the dump. It's obvious she doesn't know I'm here, too busy talking to Michael and the gang, when she says, "Thought Brian was meeting you at the gym? Was Gus' flight delayed or did he just blow you off again?"

"There was definitely blowing involved, just not between me and Mikey." Stepping around her and sliding into the booth, I look at Deb and say, "Turkey, no mayo…"

"I'm not your fucking waitress, asshole." She cuffs the back of my head. "Thought you gave up corrupting the youth."

Chuckling, I tell her the god's truth. "The man was corrupted long before today, Deb."

"Oh, really," Emmett drawls. "Do tell."

An image flashes fast through my mind: brown skin standing out in stark relief against the white tiles, the span of wide hands gripping my thighs and then my ass and finally my waist, my cock slipping in and out of his mouth, spit shiny and thick with desire. Smirking, I say, "Let's just say, for once the reality lived up to the advertising."

"So, what's his name?"

I level a fast glare in Ted's direction. "How the fuck would I know? It was a blow job, Theodore, not a job interview."

*

"Why am I going to this thing?"

It's a rhetorical question; one I ask every six months when Cynthia drops the invitation on my desk.

She follows the script and gives me a snotty, "I had Jessica RSVP for you when it came in last month. It's a plus one if you don't want to go alone."

"You offering to come with me?"

"Once was enough," Cynthia replies, wrinkling her nose. "It still ranks as one of the most boring nights of my life. However, Ted said there should be some new faces there. Something about a couple of real estate offices, a posh boutique and spa, and a couple of other businesses."

"The boutique may be something to look into," I mutter, more for my benefit than Cynthia's. "Always smart to pad the accounts with local business."

Cynthia hums a noncommittal agreement. "You need to leave soon if you want to change first."

Like I have ever gone to one of these things straight from the office. It's not so much a change of clothes, as much as it's I need a good stiff drink and, if there's time, a fast trick to relieve the pressure before I go play with the breeders for the night. I start shutting down the computer and Cynthia smirks. Bitch.

"I'll call you if anything comes up, otherwise, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Call the account exec first, Cynthia. They're getting a percentage, so unless it's beyond their scope, leave me out of it."

She stops, hand on the door and cants her head. "Turning over a new leaf?"

I press my lips together, roll my shoulders in an easy shrug. Maybe Gus' parting shot is still smarting a bit. Fuck knows I've spent too much time over the past couple of months replaying his words. "We pay them to handle it, might as well make them earn it."

"Look at you, finally letting the little birdies out of the nest."

"Of course, I expect to be informed first thing in the morning of any issues," I add, heading towards the door. "No reason to give everyone too much leeway." 

"Of course." Cynthia is laughing at me on the inside. The devilish smile is confirmation of that. She swings the door open and says, "Now get out of here. You're wasting valuable time."

*

Twenty minutes in and I'm kicking myself for not finding a trick before arriving. This thing is even more horrendously tedious than I remember. I tell myself that it's good for business; that, like the charity events we sponsor, Kinnetik has reached the level where the schmoozing is expected, necessary even. It doesn't help at all.

Then, between one air kiss and another, the skin on the back of my neck tingles. I'm being watched and not in that business class sort of way. If I'd been in a club or at the gym, I'd've sworn I was being cruised.

"Oh, great, he's finally here. Come with me, Brian." Mary – owner of Dionysus & Demeter, the finest Greek restaurant in the Pitts – wraps her hand around my elbow and starts cutting a delicate path through the crowd. The woman is hell on wheels and can drink most men under the table. You'd never know it at these functions, though. When she's here, she's nothing but old money propriety. "I've been telling Christopher all about your advertising genius." 

When she comes to a stop, I look up and, seeing familiar whiskey-brown eyes, have to work at not bursting out with a laugh. Ted will be pleased; my gym trick has a name now. A few weeks late, but still… a name.

Mary either doesn't recognize the sexual tension that immediately appeared or she's a much better actress than I ever gave her credit for. I'm betting on the latter. 

"Christopher Jackson, Brian Kinney." She smiles at Christopher and adds, "Brian owns the advertising agency I was telling you about. Brought in so much business we had to start turning people away."

"Personally I think it's the fact that Dionysus & Demeter is just that damn good," I say, playing the game despite the obvious tightening of my groin.

"This is no time for such an old argument," Mary replies, laughing. "Christopher is an investment broker, Brian. Just relocated to Pittsburgh from Houston. I'm just going to leave you both to it." She pats my arm and says, "I'll be calling next week for an appointment, Brian," then looks at Christopher and adds, "It was lovely to see you again." 

Another round of air kisses and Mary disappears into the crowd, her laughter and hint of her perfume lingering in the silence. I'm thinking we both just got played by a master.

"Houston? Pittsburgh puts you a long way from home." The conversation is instinctive, the typical mundane chatter of businessmen. "Why here, Mr. Jackson?"

He gives me a lazy grin. "I've had your cock in my mouth, Brian. I think that opens the door for first names." He holds out his hand and says, "And, it's Nate. Christopher is for business."

"Nate?"

"Short for Nathaniel. My momma believed in saddling her boys with larger than life names."

"Well, Nate, I'm just Brian." I flash him a wry smirk. "When it came to names, like most everything else, my mother was of a conservative ilk."

Nate chuckles softly. It's a surprisingly sensual sound and I find myself discreetly adjusting my dick. If the sudden flare of arousal in Nate's eyes is any indication, I wasn't as circumspect as I'd hoped.

He steps closer and leans in, whispering, "Tell me, Mr. Brian Kinney, how long before we can leave? I'm really in the mood for you to fuck me."

It crosses my mind to tell him I don't do repeats. Except that I'd _really_ like to do him. "How much networking do you need to accomplish tonight?"

*

With a shake of his head, Nate says, "I almost bought here."

Here being Metropolitan Shadyside, one of the highrise condos in downtown Pitts. It's been home since I unloaded the house eight years ago, then the loft a year after that. The condo is the perfect combination to fit my needs. Pretentious enough I can bring the major clients like Leo Brown here for Kinnetik functions, but open enough I don't feel hemmed in. 

I arch a brow. "Where'd you end up at?"

"Few miles from here at the Carlyle."

Another nice highrise. The man definitely has taste. 

Stripping out of my jacket, I chuckle softly. "I checked them out, too. In the end, this one was willing to let me tweak the floor plan. I didn't need three bedrooms but I wanted the square footage."

"And the view a penthouse suite brings," Nate says, walking towards the bank of windows.

"Yes," I admit. "The view that you only get with a penthouse."

"Are the pleasantries over now, Brian?" Nate turns and pins me with a taunting look. "Or should I expect an offer for drinks and a late night snack?"

The growl tumbles out before I can stop it. A short detour to a box on the fireplace mantel to retrieve a condom and lube and I'm stalking towards Nate, crossing the wide expanse of the apartment with even, measured steps. "Actually," I drawl, "I was planning something a little more hands-on than champagne and canapés."

"Yeah," Nate whispers, popping first the buttons of his cuffs and then the ones keeping the crisp linen shirt closed. "I can get behind that."

There's another reason I paid handsomely for the penthouse. I can fuck someone against the windows and not have to worry about a visit from Pittsburgh's boys in blue.

*

"Fuck, Kinney," Nate murmurs, arching his back and pushing down on my cock. "Give me more, you bastard."

Grunting, I wrap my hands around the headboard and, using the leverage, snap my hips forward. "Greedy man."

"Just… _fuck, yes_ …just know what I want."

That has been evidenced already. The piles of designer clothing in the living room – Dolce and Gabbana for him, Armani for me – and the drying come streaking the center picture window mixing with the loops and swirls of my handprint and the smear of sweat from Nate's chest. My living room is wrecked. And, right at the moment, I could give a shit less. 

It's just all proof that the man knows – and, more importantly, gets – what he wants. Good thing we're on the same fucking page.

His body tightens down, his fingers curling into the sheets and ass clamping down on my dick, and all thoughts about earlier, about me fucking him against the window with Pittsburgh laid out at our feet, vanish in the white rush of orgasm. I take a few deep breaths and, mattress bouncing beneath my weight, roll onto my back.

Seconds give way to minutes and, when I'm on the verge of making sure he hasn't fucked around and fallen asleep, Nate chuckles. Then outright laughs. "Christ. Been a while since I've been put through my paces that well."

He's not alone in that assessment.

"We should really do this again sometime."

I can't disagree with that either.

*

I'm lining up my shot when Emmett sucks in a fast breath. Moving into my personal space, he says, "That man fills out jeans almost better than he did his workout gear."

Looking up, I hone in on Nate immediately. He's making his move on some trick at the bar. Poor kid doesn't stand a chance against the look in Nate's eyes. "He looks better in a suit."

"Brian Kinney! Have you been keeping secrets from me?"

After I sink the six ball, I look at Em, eyebrow arching high. "Did I miss the part where we all turned into teenage girls, slumber parties and late night tales of our escapades included?"

Emmett meets my look with one of his own. I cave to him faster than is respectable. "He was at the local business owner's dinner Cynthia insisted I attend a month or so back." 

"Uh huh."

"Seriously." Nate looks my way and I raise my beer in salute, receiving a cocky grin in return. "He's an investment broker."

"You like him."

"What's not to like, EmmyLou?" I drain my beer and toss the bottle into the barrel in the corner. "He's hot, and successful, and gives one fuck of a blow job."

I leave off the fact that his sense of humor is stellar and that he can play a mean game of soccer. That, since winter finally gave way to spring, we've been meeting in the park over our lunch hour, playing a game of one-on-one instead of hitting the gym. That we've talked about clients – mine and his – and our college days, shared take-out and showers. That I've fucked him more than once.

Glancing back over the bar, I watch as the predatory look on Nate's face bleeds into a mask of indifference. Whoops, guess the trick said the wrong thing. When Nate quickly backs away from the bar, his natural grace the only thing keeping him from tripping over his own feet, I snort. Loudly. 

Glaring, he weaves his way to my side. "Amused by that, huh?"

"He have a snake in his pocket?" 

"Worse," Nate mumbles. "Wanted me to know upfront that he only puts out after the third date. Who the fuck does that anymore?"

Across from us Emmett bursts out laughing. Between giggles, he says, "So, Brian, you going to introduce us to your long, lost twin?"

"Fuck off, Honeycutt," I mutter. Then, to Nate, I motion at the boys and say, "These are the three stooges and their partners." I put enough edge on the last word that Nate's lips quirk up. "Emmett and Mark, Ted and Blake, and Michael and Ben. Boys, this is..." I look at him, silently asking if it's Nate or Christopher. He gives me a tight nod and I say, "This is Nate."

"Wanna whip their ass on the table, Kinney?"

"Rather fuck yours through it," I whisper. Louder, for everyone else's ears, I say, "Can you actually shoot pool, cowboy?"

"Almost as well as you play soccer, white boy."

Game on. "Rack 'em."

Nate slaps my ass as he walks by. I roll my lips together to keep from smiling. Looks like someone is getting laid tonight.

It doesn't take long to put all of them in their place. Nate wasn't joking about his skills with a pool cue. Now it's time to move onto the more interesting portion of the evening: fucking Nate. "It's been fun, boys."

Nate follows me out of Woody's, bumping against my back when I stop on the steps. "My place for a change, Brian?"

I know what he's asking for and it isn't just a change of location. Christopher Nathaniel wants to top. And if the way my dick is twitching in anticipation, I'm looking forward to him topping. Decision made, I step to the side. "Lead the way, Nathaniel."

*

Nate is built like a brick shit house and hung like a horse. And by the time he's pushing his dick into my ass I want it so fucking bad I'm damn near begging for it. Between his tongue and his fingers and his mouth – Jesus, fucking Christ, the words that come out of his mouth – my resistance is gone, blown to fucking bits.

"Fuck me, goddammit," I growl. "I'm not made of glass, not gonna break."

"Maybe I just like taking my time, Brian," Nate whispers.

Nate's words skate over my skin, hot and damp and full of fucking promise. Then he leans back and spreads the cheeks of my ass with his hands, his thumbs pushing in close to my hole. Rolling his hips forward, Nate slides his cock deeper inside me. Goosebumps break over my arms. I close my eyes and groan. Fuck. 

"That's it, just take it," Nate murmurs. "Let me get you there."

Between his dick and his mouth… I'm gonna blow long before I want to.

"I like watching you stretch around my dick, feeling you clench around me, hearing your breaths coming out in tiny bursting pants…" Pushing his hands along my spine, he drapes himself over my back again. "I fucking _like_ knowing it's happening because of my cock."

"Shut up." The intended grunt is more of a moan, giving way to the full body shudder twisting its way up from my toes. "Shut your fucking mouth."

"Not a chance." He huffs a smoky chuckle, molasses slow and filled with dark innuendo. "Finally got you here, not gonna half-ass it now."

No. He definitely isn't half-assing. 

He pushes into me again and I give up trying to control the situation. It's not going to happen. Not with Nate. It's part of the attraction, knowing I do not intimidate him, that he's not in awe of the Liberty Avenue stud. He's something I'm not accustomed to. An equal on every front.

Admitting that to myself, my body relaxes completely. And Nate's cock slips just that much further into me.

"Yeah," Nate says, approval ringing in the single word. "Figured it out, huh? Gonna let me handle it for tonight?"

Bastard. Cocky fucking bastard.

I don't even try to answer him. I let myself get lost in the sensations. The feel of Nate's cock, the low rumble of his voice, the scrape of his teeth on my neck… my shoulder… my back.

Then his hand wraps around my cock and my body seizes, orgasm washing over me in an unexpected rush.

Later, after another round, I make the move to get up and leave. Nate's arm sneaks out and wraps around my waist, tugging me back against his side. "Stay."

I stay.

It isn't the first night we've spent together. It is, however, the first time I'd've been disappointed with the alternative.

*

"Got a minute, Brian?"

Looking up from the stack of must-reads on my desk, I sigh. After introducing Nate to the gang Friday night, I should have expected Ted to come in full of questions this morning. I wave him in. No reason to put off the inevitable.

"So, you know Christopher Jackson."

"Actually, I know Nate Jackson," I drawl. 

Ted flounders for a minute, obviously not expecting me to make the distinction. I bite the inside of my jaw to stifle a laugh.

"You do know who he is, right? Jackson and Jackson Investments. National account."

"I know who he is," I say when Ted stops talking and takes a deep breath. 

Shoulders sagging, he asks, "Why are we not going after them?"

Rolling my lips together, I let the sound of silence fill the office.

Ted cants his head to the side and stares at me. Then the penny drops. "You fucked him."

I can't stop the snort that statement deserves. That's our Theodore. King of deductive reasoning, but with all the grace of a water buffalo.

"No," he says, quickly shaking his head. "It wasn't just a fuck. You're –" he flails a hand through the air, obviously a leftover from his time with Emmett "– _involved_. Dating. In a relationship. You're still fucking him."

"Jesus fucking Christ." The fact that he's so close to the truth, that he's inferred that there is more than just fucking going on, pisses me off. Not that I'm going to tell him that. Because I have no fucking clue what is really going between Nate and me. "Out!"

"Bri…"

"Get the fuck out!" I roar. "Now!"

He wastes no time clearing the office.

*

After I miss a block for the third time, Nate stops running and demands, "What the fuck is your damage today?"

No way am I telling him that my mind is on whatever the hell this is happening between us. Dropping down to the ground, I mutter, "Office bullshit."

"Not buying it, Kinney."

Of course he isn't. "Ted."

"Your CFO?"

"Yeah." I drag a hand over my face. "He was asking questions about why Kinnetik isn't after your advertising dollars."

"And figured out we're fucking each other," Nate fills in, towering over me with his hands on his hips.

He gets it, understands the lines that business shouldn't cross. Repping who you fuck is one of them. "Uh huh, and then alluded to a hell of a lot more."

"Whatever, playa. Long as he doesn't start trying to stop me from getting my dick sucked in the steam room, I could give a shit what he thinks he knows." Nate slaps me on the shoulder. "Now get your ass up off the ground and get serious about this. I don't like winning unless I earn it."

"That's all you've got to say about this?" I arch a brow. The man has no idea of the fallout that's about to happen. "You realize Ted's gonna tell Michael and then all of Liberty will be waiting for wedding announcements."

"There're gonna be some sad queens in Pittsburgh then. Besides, not their business how often we fuck each other."

"We still doing that?" And, Christ, that bordered on pathetic. 

Nate's face goes blank. "You backing down?"

Away from some of the best fucking I've had in years? That would be a no. "Fuck no."

"Exactly." Nate looks at his watch. "And you owe me a workout. Lunch is over."

Rolling to a stand, I ask, "Gym at six?"

"Nah, I'm thinking of something a little more personal."

Heading to the car, a rumble of laughter works its way out. "Ass."

"Yours or mine, either way," Nate replies, smirking. "Your place at six?"

Suddenly the day is looking a hell of a lot better. "You're on."

*

"Um, Brian, what's Nate doing?"

Glancing over my shoulder I watch Nate disappear into the locker room, a trick dogging his steps. "What do you think he's doing, Mikey? While your actual experience may be lacking, you've seen me do it enough to know."

"I thought you two…"

Christ. Never thought this topic would last this long. Two days? Yeah. Two weeks? No way in hell. "As I told Theodore and Debbie and _you_ , we fuck. We're not getting married, we're not in a relationship, we fuck." 

"But… you're friends."

The confusion, hurt even, in Michael's voice makes me soften my tone. "It didn't start that way. He was a trick. And then he was a fellow businessman. Now he's a friend." I shrug my shoulders. "Who I still fuck."

And have dinner with almost every night. Fuck.

"It doesn't bother you?"

I stop running on the treadmill, trying to work out Mikey's latest statement. "Stop taking left turns in the conversation. Doesn't what bother me?"

"Don't you want more?"

"Look, I'm good." It's the truth. I really am good. Not burying myself in work, eating better, working out more. I'm good. "Stop worrying, okay?"

He nods his head. "Yeah, I guess."

Rolling my eyes, I get back to my workout. Michael still doesn't get that not everyone needs what he does for life to be good.

*

"Emmett reminds me of this friend of mine from back home." Eyes closed, a soft smile – softer than I'm accustomed to seeing – flashes across his face. "Uncomfortable and awkward in some situations, but so damned over-the-top you can't help but love him."

Nate rarely talks specifically about Houston. I'll admit that I'm intrigued by this sudden bout of nostalgia. "You miss Houston?"

"Not as much as I'd thought I would," he replies, blinking his eyes open and giving me a very pointed stare.

I'm saved from replying – or, rather, from _not_ replying – by the bell. Literally. Pushing off the sofa, I head to the door. "Dinner's here. Get the plates out?"

The scent of curry invades the apartment. As he splits one take-out container between the two plates, Nate says, "There is one thing I do miss, though." After I arch a brow, he adds, "Home cooked meals."

"Doubt you're going to find a barbeque around here," I snort.

"Not a proper one, for sure." Nate pushes one plate towards me and then, grabbing the one remaining, heads towards the table. "I was thinking more about the people, the hanging out with family and friends. The noise of everyone talking over everyone else and no one getting offended by it."

That makes sense. As annoying as everyone is, I'm not looking forward to the day when we won't have Sunday dinner at Deb's. Chugging half a beer, I open my mouth before I can talk myself out of it. "You like Italian?"

Nate gives me a quizzical look. "Not as a full-time staple."

"No kidding," I mutter, reaching for the phone. Punching in a number, I wait, hoping like hell it's Carl who answers this time. I'm really not in the mood for Deb's inquisition. Lady luck is on my side for once. "Carl, Brian. Pretty good, you?"

Carl's gruff voice is showing the signs of age. It's an unpleasant thought. 

"Listen, you think Deb will mind setting another place at dinner tomorrow?"

He barks out a laugh. Asks me if she has ever turned someone away.

"We'll bring the beer and wine." Smug, I hang up the phone. "I can't help with barbeque, but the noisy family dinner can be checked off of your list."

"Brian Kinney," Nate says, laughing. "Tomorrow, huh?"

I give him a jerk of my head, wondering for the first time if I overstepped some stupid boundary.

"Sounds like fun."

Huffing in disbelief – fun, really? – I say, "Yeah, let's see if you're still saying that after spending the afternoon with Deb. There's a reason I saved her for last."

If I'm honest, it has little to do with her brash personality. It's more about the fact that taking someone to a family dinner is making a statement. One that I'm not sure I want – or have any right – to make.

*

We're running late. Nate looked too good in his low-slung jeans to be on time. I doubt anyone will be surprised. Without knocking, I open the door, barging in like I do every Sunday. Everyone stops talking immediately.

"We should've been on time," Nate murmurs from behind me. "Or, you know, first to arrive."

The comment catches me off-guard and I burst out laughing. It seems to propel everyone back into talking again. All at the same goddamn time.

"Nate! No one said you were coming." Emmett squeals. He comes over and whisks Nate away, introducing him Deb and Carl, and Josh, the newest of Deb's lost boys.

Never thought I'd say it, but thank fuck for Auntie Em.

"Nate, huh?"

Stacking the beer in the fridge, I look over my shoulder. "Yeah, he mentioned that he missed the noise of family dinners."

"He missed the noise?" The look on Michael's face is almost comical.

"That's what he said," I reply. Then Deb cackles and I snort. "I doubt he's prepared for this, though."

Michael starts laughing. "Not many people are."

Standing up, beer in hand, I pitch my voice to carry over the din of chatter and say, "We going to eat or what?"

*

If the shouting coming from the couch is any indication, Nate and Carl are in the middle of some male bonding ritual that includes basketball and beer. I'm just waiting for Deb to say something about how adorable the whole thing is.

"I never figured you'd bring someone besides Justin to a family dinner."

I choke on my beer. Then, mopping up the spill, glare at Michael. "What?" 

"Justin." He says the name like it explains everything. 

It explains _nothing_. Justin left for New York a decade ago. Outside major things like when Molly – and then Jennifer – got married, Justin hasn't been back to the Pitts in over eight years. Michael knows this. "Where the fuck did that come from?"

"He was the great love of your life." Michael shrugs. "Never thought it'd really end."

Before I can snarl an answer, Ben snorts. "Like Oscar Wilde said, they spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever."

Raising my bottle, I toast Ben's intervention. The quote was perfectly timed, perfectly played. And apt as all fuck. "Well said, Professor."

"What?" Michael snaps. "You didn't think it was forever?"

Silently, I give the question its due. Justin is a part of my history, there is no pretending like he didn't break through my walls and leave his mark on his way out. "At one time, I thought I wanted forever. But even then I didn't believe it was going to happen."

"You two were good together," Michael says.

This time, Ben and I both snort. "Were you there, Mikey? We had good moments, but…"

"You two needed each other," Ben says, looking at me when I let the sentence fade off. "But neither of you would have reached your full potential if you had stayed together. Well," he says, twirling his glass on the table, "Justin wouldn't have. I think once you opened Kinnetik, had dealt with some other issues –" after the cancer, he means "– you found your footing. Justin though, he needed to go out on his own. Lose the safety net that you and, really, all of us, gave him, and see what he was made of."

Ben gives me a sheepish look and shrugs. "I've given it some thought. You two were passionate on a level that made me curious, made me wonder."

Made him want. Ben doesn't say it, but it's there, hanging in the air.

"I've thought about Justin and me," I say, redirecting the attention away from Ben. "Just not recently. Look, Justin and I collided together at the right time for us. He helped me, I helped him. But it's been over longer than it was ever _not_ over."

"So what is Nate?"

I shrug. "He's Nate."

That explanation's going to have to be good enough for now. It's all I've got to offer.

*

"I hear I'm nothing like Justin."

Instinctively, my body tenses. "Okay."

Nate tips his beer to his lips and then, after swallowing, asks, "I need to worry about some pissed off ex wanting to shoot me?"

"You're not in Texas anymore, cowboy." 

He doesn't even quirk a small grin.

"Jesus, fuck. No." I'm going to kill Michael. Or whoever the fuck put Justin's name in Nate's head. "I haven't even seen the kid in years. Last time I did, he had a partner and was living his happily ever after in New York."

"Thought I'd ask since, you know, damn near everyone mentioned him the other night."

I'm going to kill them all. I hope Nate didn't get too attached to any of them. Taking a deep breath, I mutter, "Yeah."

"Hey," he says, more gentle than only seconds before. "We've all got one of those, right?"

"Someone your entire family thinks you're heartbroken over?" I roll my eyes and sigh. "I doubt it."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Heartbroken. Are you heartbroken?"

"I came out of Babylon one night higher than a kite and drunk off my ass. Justin was there, under a streetlight. All blond hair and blue eyes, looked like a fallen angel." I have no idea why I'm telling Nate this. All I wanted was a peaceful night after a long ass day, wanted to not eat alone, wanted to fuck someone, and then crash. Instead I'm reliving my youth with my… whatever Nate is.

"And you fell for him," Nate fills in.

"Hell no. I fucked him. Justin is… was, hell, might still be, a tenacious little shit. He was young, only seventeen, and just kept popping up all over the place. I fucked him again, and again. There's more to it than that, though." I drain the beer and set the bottle down beside my chaise. "You really want to hear this shit?"

Nate rolls his lips together and, spreading his hands wide, asks, "Do you need to say it?"

"No. But you probably need to hear it from me instead of just having everyone else's twisted version of the Brian and Justin show. We circled each other for five years, coming and going, coming and staying and then going. Dealt with his family kicking him out, him getting bashed. My tricking, his other boyfriend. His temporary move to LA, and my cancer." I really wish I still smoked. I could use a fucking cigarette right now. "Ten years ago, Babylon got bombed. After that, I wanted to keep him close. Justin and I got engaged, and then we got unengaged. He left for New York to become a famous artist, and I moved on. Moved on a long fucking time ago."

I chance a fast glance over to Nate. He's watching me, eyes alert and not missing anything. "Did I fall for him? Yeah, I guess. Eventually. Am I heartbroken and pining a decade later, though? Fuck no."

The tension builds as a long minute ticks off in silence. Finally, Nate looks at me and says, "Seventeen, Brian? You were what? Just about thirty? Fuck, man. I don't know if I should be impressed or jealous."

The tension breaks and everything shifts back to normal. Or at least close enough to let me relax.

Tired of talking about Justin, I ask, "So, do you have a version of the great love story that wasn't?"

"Yeah, Danny," Nate says, smiling. "But my story is nowhere near as dramatic as yours. There was no bashing, no bombing, no twelve-year age difference. It was just… when it was good, it worked like hell on fire. When it was bad, it was just pure hell. Eventually there was more bad than good and all of the excuses to stay together gave way to all of the reasons we shouldn't."

"Sounds familiar," I mutter.

Nate laughs quietly.

I resist the urge to stick my tongue out him, settling for flipping him off. It's the more mature option.

"After all of that shit," he says, suddenly looking at me very seriously, "I decided I'd take happy and content over an all-consuming love any day."

This feels like a key moment. React one way and we'll take the path to the left, react another and it's to the right we go. I don't know what either path will bring. I do know what the choices are, though: meet him head-on or look away. 

"Exactly that," I reply, returning his penetrating stare.

*

Dropping my keys on the counter, I loosen my tie and head straight to the bedroom. "You owe me, Nate."

"Don't try that shit. I warned you," he retorts. 

"You knew what it was going to be like and asked me anyway." Case closed, as far as I'm concerned. 

We spent the evening at a business function. Nothing but talk of money and portfolios. It would have had Ted creaming in his suit.

I was there as Nate's plus one. 

As far as the entire blue-haired brigade is concerned, Christopher Jackson has a lovely _partner_. Fucking Christ.

"The chicken was dry, the drinks were watered down," I start ticking off points on my fingers. " _And_ , I got felt up by sweet Mrs. Ingliss on the dance floor."

"Yeah, she's always been a pip."

"A pip? She's a feisty old crow with a mouth that embarrassed almost everyone there." I can't stop the smirk from forming. "I can only hope to be half the bitchy queen she is at seventy-eight."

He steps in close behind me, an arm sliding around my waist as his chest shakes with laughter. "Did she really grope you?"

"And pinched my ass. I'll probably have a bruise."

Nate cups a hand around my dick, tightening and releasing and tightening again. "Look at you, braving the wilds of old money and breeders for me. How can I make it up to you?"

Leaning back against him, I drag my tongue across my bottom lip, forming my request carefully in my head. I'm about to ask for something I've never, fucking _never_ , asked for before. In the end I go for blunt and to the point. "Fuck me, Nate."

He huffs a hot breath against my neck. "My pleasure, Brian. Believe me, my pleasure."

*

"So Gus is coming?"

It's the first thing he says after we leave Deb's. That can't possibly be a good sign.

"Yeah, I get him for a week at Christmas and three during the summer. Matter of fact, the first time you sucked me off?"

Nate flashes a small grin. "At the gym. That was hot."

"Yeah, I'd just taken him to the airport." And, if I'm honest about it, the drive from the airport to the gym was just long enough for the quiet to become annoying. I'd needed something to take my mind off of it. Enter Nate. "You were a nice ego stroke that morning."

Snorting, Nate shakes his head. "Ego stroke? Seriously, Brian? That's what you call it? Are you sure you're in advertising?"

I roll one shoulder in a shrug. "At the time, that's what it was."

"So," he says, "Gus. I'll need to make myself scarce until he leaves. Early July, right?"

I lean against the hood of my car, arms crossed over my chest. Either we're on completely different pages – and isn't that the story of my life – or Nate's trying to do what he thinks I want. "That hadn't been my plan at all."

"When you gonna share this plan with me?"

Nate mirrors my posture. We're both eyeing each other warily. It's really pathetic. Mid-forties and we're acting like we're seventeen.

Forcing myself to relax, I reach out and grab Nate's wrist, pulling him in against me. Mouth near his ear, I whisper, "Nate, I would like for you to meet my son, spend time at the condo with us, help me kick the little shit's ass at soccer. Think you can handle that?"

"You sure?"

It's the first time I've heard Nate sound anything except self-assured. And as big as Nate is on family, having the insecurity show itself over my son is something I should have anticipated.

"You know that," Nate keeps talking, unaware about my little revelation, "if I'm around he's going to tell his mothers, right?"

Truth time has arrived. Christ. Of course it would be here, in front of Debbie's house. I'm sure they're all watching, peering through the windows with bated breath.

Swallowing, I push Nate away from me, just far enough so that he can see my face, my eyes, as I say what I need to say. Because I'll only be saying it once. "What's he going to tell them? That his dad is happy and content?"

Lips twitching, he rolls his eyes. "Dick."

"Hey –" it takes work to keep the chuckle out of my voice "– I put myself out there and you call me a dick?"

"Come on, let's head back to your place." Nate steps further away and starts walking around the nose of the car. "Seal this happy and content with a good hard fuck, yeah?"

"Yeah," I reply, sliding into the driver's seat.

Then I burst out laughing.

Because for the first time in a long time, I _really_ am happy and content. And all I had to do was let it happen.

∴ end ∴


End file.
